Rushed(91)

As I drove, I thought about how I should have done things differently the night before. I wanted to tell her the truth, that I was interested in her beyond just my want to f*ck her. Sure, she was bitchy, and she had pride that came from a family heritage and her own hard work, but there was another side to her, one that spoke to me in a way that a woman hadn't in a very long time. It was in the way she challenged me—she was a strong woman, and it drew me to her. I wanted to say it, but fear overtook me, and I took the easy way out. For that, I branded myself a coward and a total shit.

Distracted, I didn't notice the black Tahoe that pulled up alongside until it was already next to me. I looked over and saw the driver looking at me like he knew me for a moment before stepping down on his accelerator, surging ahead. I watched as he pulled up next to Luisa's Fiat, paralleling it for a while. I wondered. That face caught in my mind for some reason—until it came to me.

The driver's face had a scar. It was the man we’d been looking for.

I stepped on my accelerator when suddenly, the Tahoe jerked to the right, clipping Luisa's car. Jammed to the side, she kept her wits about her, not losing control as she went with the attack and curved into the bike lane. Her tires skidded along the curb, her car getting crunched until she came to a smaller curb, where her right two wheels went up on the sidewalk. It was a temporary reprieve at best, as I could see ahead street-side parking and trees that were planted in gaps of the sidewalk. I had to act fast.

I didn't have a gun, and I didn't even have a phone. What I had was a sports car and a powerful engine. Not caring about my safety, I plowed my car into the back of the Tahoe, hoping that my tiny little sports coupe had enough mass to do something to the much larger SUV.

Thankfully, physics were not totally against me. The Alfa-Romeo is a small car, but it’s also built low to the ground, with a hood that starts low and curves upward. The Tahoe's back bumper was taller, and I saw as the back end lifted even as the shock of impact jolted through me and the air bag exploded in my face. I felt the painful jerk of my seatbelt pulling tight, a flare of pain in my left shoulder, and then the world went hazy.

I don't know how long I was out. It couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. The first thing I was aware of was a very bright redness in my vision. The second was a screeching sound. I slowly opened my eyes to find that the screeching sound was the fire department rescue team using the Jaws of Life to cut the support struts on the roof of my car. There was a firefighter next to me, holding a blanket to prevent sparks or metal falling on me. Looking out the front, I saw that the front of my car was crunched, and my left ankle felt numb. "What?"

I had to give the firefighter credit. He didn't get startled at all. Instead, he looked at me, then back to the cutting. "We're getting your car open. Next time you try to rear-end someone, pick a car bigger than a roller skate."

I mumbled, the effort of speaking overcoming me. My vision went swimmy again, and darkness followed afterward. In it, I only had one thought. Was Luisa okay?



"He's waking up."

My eyes fluttered again, and I saw that I was in a hospital now, which I didn't like. Being in a hospital meant that I had been taken in by ambulance. And ambulances have a disturbing tendency to be in the proximity of the police.

Still, the people in the room reassured me as I saw Dom Petruzelli, my father, and a doctor. "Yeah, I'm awake.”

Dad chuckled and looked at the doctor. "He sounds fine to me."

The doctor shrugged and looked at some machines above my head. “His pulse is steady, but that ankle's not going anywhere for a while. He’s probably got a concussion too. Hold on."

The doctor got his little penlight, and I felt a distinct sense of deja vu. I was getting checked for head injuries far too often for my liking. "Follow the little light, I got it," I grumbled, my eyes watering from the brightness. "Keep it up, and I'm going to go blind."

"He's going to have a splitting headache, but I think overall, the main things are his shoulder and ankle," the doctor said. "I would suggest that he stay here for the next day or two, at least until the swelling goes down in the ankle and we can get it booted properly."

"What's wrong with my ankle?" I asked, looking down. Sticking out from under the blanket at a slightly weird angle was a chunky, bulky air cast. At least the damn thing wasn't heavy, although my leg already itched. It was then that I noticed I wasn't wearing any pants either. "Oh. Shit, you guys could have at least just cut the jeans off at the knee."

"We'd have had to finish the job when you go under for full casting," the doctor said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, Mr. Bertoli. I'm sure you can afford a new pair. Oh, and congratulations, by the way."

I looked over at Dad and Dom, confused. "Congratulations?"

Dad nodded. "You're a hero, Tomasso. About a dozen witnesses and three traffic cameras caught you ramming Frakes's vehicle. By the way, that was his name—the bomber and driver. Leonard Frakes."

"Mr. Frakes is in surgery," Dom added, "since your little stunt did a number on him. After that, the FBI will be taking him into custody."

I looked at the doctor, who pulled a face and left the room. "And the Seattle PD?"

"They're happy because they were the ones to get first arrest on the guy," Dom said, "although I think Fritz and Taguchi are having a coronary right now. You're a certified hero, and there's no way in hell they can even approach you, and that's going to hold up for a long time. After all, they still have to convict this guy, and that's going to start a whole new news cycle about your heroism."